Ghost of You
by Jo Wilson
Summary: Something is haunting John...but is it all that it seems?


Ghost of You

Something is haunting John...but is it all that it seems?

Inspired by My Chemical Romance's song 'The Ghost of You'.

Squeal to 'She Never Sleeps' and 'He Blames Himself' but CAN be read as a stand alone.

Authors Note: Mentions Drinking and Smoking in a not entirely 'recreational' sense. AU and TOTALLY IGNORES THE CANON!

You have been warned-Jo xo 

'_And all the things that you never ever told me_

_And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me'._

He was used to not being told things. That had started when his mother had fallen ill and his father failed to inform him until it was too late. He'd walked into the all too brightly lit room at the hospice, saw his mother lying cold and still and swore he'd never forgive his father for what he'd done.

And he hadn't. If he was truly honest with himself…he'd only gone to his father's funeral to check the man was dead.

He was used to the smiles that haunted his dreams. His mother's was one of them, he could vividly remember the last smile she'd ever given him before he went off to boarding school that fall. He could remember the last team night they'd shared with Ford before all hell had broken loose and the younger man grinning wildly as he took him for the last of his stash of Frosted Blueberry Pop Tarts during a ill advised game of Twister fuelled by Athosian home brew.

He hadn't eaten them since…but he'd drunk more than his fair share of the home brew since.

The current face haunting his dreams was part of the reason behind his fondness for the beverage. Doctor Elizabeth Weir ('Lizabeth to him) had come to him-for the first time at least-shortly after being released from the Infirmary following her ordeal at Kolya's hands.

And if they'd woke up the next morning with pounding heads, aching muscles and bruises in strange places-it was down to the storm and the siege.

Nothing else.

It had happened on a number of occasions since. One of them would make their way to the other in the hours after a crisis, they didn't always find themselves in entwined in a dance only true lovers knew and they didn't always find themselves any more comforted by the other's presence.

But they always drank. It's how he knew she'd made her way through most of her adult life, that when things had truly taken a turn for the worst she hit the bottle and when she hit it, she hit it well.

He also knew she hated drinking alone…which is why he never turned her away if she arrived at his door.

They'd smoked together on a handful of occasions too. He never entirely figured out how she managed to get her hands on the tobacco they'd both turned a blind eye to on the city but as he watched her light cigarette after cigarette after the Nanite fiasco, tucked up on the balcony of his room with his blankets thrown over them, he also figured he didn't care.

She was there. Alive. Not entirely well but she was with him and as he took the lighter from her long, pale fingers and lit the cigarette between her lips, watching her take a long drag, he realised he could watch the smoke disappear into the darkness forever if it meant she was there beside him.

Occasionally, his dreams allowed him to see the happier moments they'd shared but more often than not, she was a spectre screaming. He'd been invited to watch the latest horror film to make its way to the expedition a few weeks after the nightmares starting and he'd had to duck out-barely controlling the panic he could feel rising-as the actress' face had somehow managed to morph into hers as the hand outstretched turned into hers too. As if she was now taunting his consciousness too.

That night, as he gave up on the glass beside his bed and just drank from the bottle, he realised how badly he missed her and how sorry he was that he'd let her go.

And as he slipped into an alcohol induced slumber, he saw it for the first time.

Elizabeth, bathed in a bright light, as she smiled.

At him, he liked to think.

So each night, he found himself drinking to try and find Elizabeth again. Not the frightened, angry Asuran who'd been haunting his dreams for months but the beautiful, brilliant woman he'd known.

At first, he could have sworn his mind was playing tricks on him-just conjuring up the things he would rather see.

Elizabeth, lying nude, in a frost covered clearing.

Elizabeth, surrounded by a group of women, dressing her against the chill.

Elizabeth, sitting outside a small house, knitting.

Elizabeth, with a book balanced on her swollen abdomen, as she slept.

Elizabeth, with sweat pouring down her face, from the exertion of giving birth.

Elizabeth smiling as she cradled the tiny infant in her arms.

But when he heard Elizabeth's voice in his head, telling him she wanted to come home…that they wanted to come home and that he already had the answer, he knew the images in his head had been far from dreams.

He awoke with a start and just about managing to dress himself before he left his quarters; he made his way to her…no, Colonel Carter's office. Without saying a word, he walked in and made his way to her desk, pulled out the second drawer on the left and turned it upside down.

The secret panel inside fell to the floor and out of it fell a manila folder-similar to the standard ones issued to them during briefings.

Opening it, he found a series of gate addresses typed up and a handwritten note from Elizabeth.

The note simply read,

'_John,_

_You know what to do._

_Lizabeth.'_

He vaguely heard Colonel Carter asking him to explain what was going on and just _what_ the hell he was playing at but he just shook his head in disbelief. He had jokingly suggested to Elizabeth in their first year that she should have a secret panel inside her desk 'just in case something went FUBAR' but he'd forgotten all about it.

Apparently, Elizabeth hadn't…


End file.
